Gone
by Southern Spell
Summary: You know this isn’t what he'd want for you, but you also know you can’t stop.**Character death**
1. A world of fragile things

Gone

A/N: I've never written a Supernatural story, so please forgive me, but I figured I'd try my hand anyway. This is probably too vague. All mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

You were four when your dad left.

He kneeled in front of you so you were face to face, his big hands resting on your small shoulders. He was telling you something important, he was telling you he was leaving.

"Where you going?" you asked.

"I've got to go see you Uncle Sam".

"Why?" You'd never met an Uncle Sam before.

"He…he's not feeling like himself. He's doing some things he shouldn't."

"Are you gonna put him in time-out?", because that's what happened to you when you did things you shouldn't.

"I don't know. Maybe." He chuckled.

"Will you come back?"

"Yea. Course I will." He gave your shoulders a light squeeze.

"How long will you be gone?"

"Not sure." He paused to think. "Couple of weeks…a month maybe. I don't know."

You made a face. That seemed like forever. "Oh."

"You're gonna have to take care of your mom for me, okay? Can you do that? Be the man of the house while I'm gone? It's a lot of responsibility."

You nodded in a way that moved your whole body. He smiled, but even you could tell that it was mostly sad.

Your dad pulled you to him. The hug is one of those goodbye hugs. The kind that squeezes you more and lasts a little longer than normal.

Letting and turned to your mother. They had already talked it over, so he gave her a quick kiss and ruffled your hair before leaving.

You and your mom didn't move as you heard that familiar rumble move farther away, until it faded into silence.

Most of your early memories are fuzzy and fragmented.

This one however, is not. This one is clear though, and you revisit it often, whether you want to or not.

A/N: Be kind if you're going to review. Thanks.


	2. Something yet to learn

You and your mom filled in the parts of the day that your dad had taken up

You and your Mom filled in the parts of the day that your Dad had taken up. Months passed without him coming home. Eventually he stopped calling every night, you heard from him once a week.

He missed a lot during that time. You turned five. Your dog, Wolf-Man, disappeared and was found after about a week of looking.

Every night you and your mom checked all the salt lines and said your prayers together, then she would check your closet for monsters. You'd ask her the same question night after night, right after she had tucked the quilt in tight around you, when your dad was coming home. Her answer was the same each time; he'd be home as soon as he can be. This didn't really answer your question, but after awhile you learned to settle for it.

It was after your bath one night, you'd gone upstairs to pick out what book you wanted your mom to read, and you waited on your bed for her. You waited for what seemed liked forever on her.

You finally gave up on being patient and went downstairs to look for her.

When you reached the kitchen it wasn't just your mom you found. Your dad was there too.

Neither of them noticed you until you had your arms wrapped around his legs, and they both stopped talking to look down at you.

"Hey kiddo." Your dad stooped to pick you up.

"Hey." You said back with a smile so big it hurt your cheeks. Clinging to his neck you breathed in, smelling him and his old leather coat. He was crushing you to him, and that was okay with you.

It was okay that he missed your fifth birthday party. It was not important that he hadn't been there to help look for your dog when it went missing for a week. It didn't matter that he hadn't been there to check your closet for monsters when you were scared. What mattered was that he had come back. He was home again.

That night you got to stay up extra late, and you filled him in detail for detail on what he'd missed while he'd been away. So what if you'd already told him most of it over the phone? He still listened like it was the first time he heard it.

When you could barely hold your eyes open, much less keep your head up, he took you up to your bed where he tucked you in. The last thing you remember was seeing him check the salt line at your window.

The next morning excitement woke you up early. The house was still quiet so you crept quietly into your parent's bedroom. You were going to get in bed with them and sleep the rest of the morning with them.

Problem was, it was just your mom in bed.

The blow was crushing when you realized what that meant, and you couldn't seem to hold back anything. Tears poured out, hot and messy. The sobs were so forceful on your little body, you could barely breath.

Your mom woke up to the noise you were creating. Understanding colored her features immediately. Holding her arms out to you she moved to hold you.

She didn't tell you that everything was fine; to calm down, that dad would be back. She only rocked you while you cried. You didn't understand why he had gone, you just knew he was, and that he'd left you behind again.

Sometimes you think this is when you should have realized that he wasn't the man you thought he was. But you were five, and your dad was still your hero, and Santa was still real.


	3. Times like these

Chapter 3:

She shook her head at you like she couldn't believe you had said that. "No honey…no,no,no. He does love us. He does love _you_."

"If loved us somuch then why hasn't he stayed? You don't just leave the people you care about."

"Its complicated. Your Uncle Sam-"

"Right. Uncle Sam. Who the heck is he? I've never meet the man, but he's so important that dad has to do whatever it is he does for Uncle Sam."

She looked frustrated, like she didn't know how to explain it to you. "Its not _for _your Uncle Sam. Your father has…he's has things he has to finish with Sam. Family business."

You made an unbelieving face. "That excuse still? That's the same one he's been using for the last thirteen years. Mom face it. He doesn't want to be here. If he did, he'd have never left. Instead he comes back a couple days every few months, and you think he-"

"Its not an excuse!" She snapped, loosing patience. She took a deep breath to calm down before she continued. "He would be here if he could. This is his home. He wants to be here. We're his family. That means something to him. Just like it should mean something to you." That last comment sounded like she was accusing you of something.

"What is that suppose to mean?"

"It means you should show more respect for your father! You were gone most of the time he was here, and when you were here you barely spoke to him."

"So?" you said.

"Next time he is here your going to treat him with respect."

"Why? He's done nothing to earn it."

"You make me ashamed of you." The look her face was more disappointed than anything else. "There are kids out there who wished they knew their father, and here you have one who loves you and is so proud of you and you can't even say five words to him."

You felt your face burn from hearing her say she was ashamed of you. Shame and disappointment was never something you wanted her to have associated with you.

She took a deep breath, and you notice that she's fighting back tears, and guilt turned your stomach. Her voice is almost pleading with you to understand. "Your father is so proud of you, John. He loves you so much, and he knows that he's missed a lot. He regrets not being here way more than you've regretted it…but if he wasn't doing what he does than things would be a lot worse."

You looked away, because were your ashamed of your own self for making your mom cry. "And what is it that he does?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not going to tell you. I'd loose you to it too if I did." And she did sound really sorry.

That answer, however, brought on another wave of anger. "You tell me that what he's doing is so important, and that I should be so thankful for what he does, and that I should accept that he's never been there for us when we needed him because he needs to do whatever it is that keeps him away, but I'm not allowed to know what it is he does! That's not fair."

"I know its not. But believe me it's for your own good. All-"

You cut her off. "Its for my own good that my father isn't around? Its for my own good that I've had to hear you play those stupid songs at night and _know_ that your crying again because he's gone? That's for my own good?"

She gave you a look that told you she thought she'd been better at hiding her tears. Then she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, so subtly you had almost missed it. "We all have to make scarifies."

You made that disbelieving look again. "That's all you've got to say?" Then it was your turn to shake your head. "Well I'm done sacrificing for him."

You snatched open the backdoor before she could say anything else. You leave her to stand alone in the kitchen, by the sink where the two of you had been arguing. Taking your beat up old pickup and driving around aimlessly for hours, trying to recover from the fight. You didn't want her to see past all the anger. You didn't want her to see the hurt and betrayal you still felt over the absence of your father, because it wasn't her fault. You'd rather her be angry because you were angry than feel guilty over something she could not fix.


	4. Gone

A/N: This is short, really short, but no worries I have most of the next chapter written so it will be up fairly quicker than it normally would be. Plus it will be longer. Also, please don't hate me after reading this.

"Honey," her voice broke over the line. Fear made you clench the phone, ever since the night you had left for Stanford you had constantly been worrying about your mother being all on her own.

"Honey," She tried again, you knew something had happened. "It's your father. There's…been an accident".

She really didn't need to say more, you knew. He was gone. Really, _really_ gone; in the most final sense of the word.

She kept talking, and you listened without interruption. You told her loved her and that you would catch the first plane you could get, then hung up.

You leaned back on your bed, staring up at your dorm's ceiling. As the shock wore off, the grief settled in.

You hadn't been excepting this day, at least not so soon.


	5. Chose a gun and threw away the sun

A/N: Sorry for the delay. I rewrote this a half dozen times more since I updated this story last. I also wanted to thank those who are reading this and leaving a review. It is greatly appreciated.  
Disclaimer: The song "Bad Company" belongs to the band Bad Company. Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke. Don't sue. I have absolutely nothing.

"_Rebel souls. Deserters we are call._

_Chose a gun and threw away the sun."_

You were outside and the window was closed to your mother's room and still you could hear the music. She'd gone to bed an hour ago, and put the song on repeat. It reminded her of your father. It stopped you from hearing her crying. Guess it had a duel purpose.

You swore silently after tonight you would never, _ever,_ listen to that song again.

You take a long pull from your beer. Today you had but your mother's husband in the ground, and you weren't as okay with it as you thought you'd be. You had lost count after the sixth bottle.

You slide your hand over the shiny black of the hood of the Impala. It had been dropped off the day before by a woman named Jo. Someone who had known your father.

You trace the edge of the polished chrome. Your mother had told you he had died in a bar fight. Fell over someone else's knife.

You stare threw the windshield, in to the inside of the car. You've got questions that your mom has dodged or flat out refused to acknowledge.

You finished the beer in your hand. You want answers. And this looks like a good place to start.

When you're finished ripping the car apart, you've sobered up enough to realize that there are more questions being added to your list then being answered. You shift through the trunk again looking at all your findings. Things don't add up the way you thought they would have.

You were supposed to find evidence of another family. He was part of the mafia. Or maybe…maybe something that made sense.

Instead you've found pictures of you, your mom, a grandfather you didn't know, and an uncle you'd never meet. Guns, knifes, fake ID's for every known profession, an old journal, and a lot of salt.

When you think back it's funny that all it really took to drastically change your reality was opening up that damn journal.


	6. Called your bluff

"Dad didn't die in a bar fight, did he." It wasn't a question really.

She paused, hands still holding the plate under the water.

"Of coarse he did." She resumes rinsing the plate before putting it in the drain then grabbed another one and started scrubbing it.

"I don't think that's what happen." You weren't giving in. You'd found your grandfather's journal. All the answers weren't in it, not the important ones. But it had been a start.

"John. I don't know what this is about." She glanced over her shoulder at you then stopped when she saw the journal in your hand. "Where did you get that?" Her voice coming out strangled.

You hold it up. "Dad's trunk."

"You went through it?" She turns off the tap. "You shouldn't have."

"I'm tired of being feed half truths and excuses."

Wiping her hands off on a dish towel she turns fully to face you. "Did you ever think maybe it was to protect you? You've read what's in there, I'm sure. How do you think you would have handled that growing up. Being told that the monsters under the bed were real."

"I think I would have taken it better then believing my dad had just abandoned me."

"He didn't-"

"I know what you've told me. But I also know that to a ten year old kid it sure felt that way."

Tossing the towel onto the counter, she shakes her head. "Your father didn't want you to have the life he had. He didn't want you to be a hunter. He wanted to give you the chance to be whatever you wanted to be. A choice that had been taken from him. He wanted to be a better father than the man who wrote that journal." She points at it. There's resentment in her voice as she mentions your grandfather. "You weren't ever supposed to find out."

"Well I know now."

"Just give me the journal, and forget about it. Go back to Stanford-"

"Look, Mom. If you don't give me the answers I'll go some where else to get them." You say as gently as you know how, while being as stubborn as you can manage.

You can see the struggle with in her. You know she's trying to decide how far you would push this. After a moment she looks defeated. Then you follow her lead and sit at the table.

She tells you there is real evil in the world, and not much good to be found in it. But to remember that it is there. You learn that there is more gray than either black or white. Even the best laid plans can fail. And that winning comes with a steep price.

Then she begs you to just leave it all be and go back to school. Be a lawyer, be a doctor, hell, be a fry cook at McDonalds, just don't be a hunter.

Sometimes you think about how better off you would have been if you had listen to her then, because later you'll learn that _everyone _has their dues to pay. And that lesson still leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

**A/N: Thank you Yammy1983 and Rebecca for the reviews. They were awesome. And for everyone else, please review! It encourages me to write. **


	7. Second Line, Same Verse

"Who did it?" No preamble to the question. You found her bar, came in and walked right up to her.

"Go home kid." Jo says without hesitation, barely glancing up from the table she's wiping down.

"I want to know who killed my dad." You had lied to your mom. Telling her you were heading back to Stanford. Instead you went looking for someone with knowledge that college doesn't offer.

She sighs and looks at you. "Listen kid-"

"No. I'll find out from you or I'll go somewhere else to find out." That same threat had worked on your mom, and you were betting it'd work on her too.

She glares at you. You think she's going to kick you out. "You're a Winchester. You go asking around who killed your daddy, you'll find out that you've got more enemies than friends." She warns instead.

"So help me." It's not a pleading voice you use. You say it with resolution.

She tells you everything she knows, which is a lot it seems. Turns out your dad, Dean Winchester had been taken out by a demon. A demon that works directly for Sam Winchester.

Later that night, while trying to sleep in your cheap motel room, it seems to you that your Uncle Sam has been the cause of a lot of your family's problems. Long before sleep comes to you, you make up your mind to put an end to those problems.

**A/N: I just wanted to thank everyone for reading, and not to forget to review!**


	8. ABCs of Growing Up

**A/N: Wow. Two updates in the same week for the same story. Go me! I also updated the rating to K+, just to be on the safe side with some of the language. If you feel it should go up more let me know. **

"ABCs of Growing Up"

"What do we do?" He whispers because he doesn't want it to hear and find the two of you.

His name is Eric and he's a student at the local college. He might be a year or to older than you, and he was depending on you to get him out of this mess, because you said you could.

"Let me look." You reach for your grandfather's journal to find out what to do. The two of you are in an abandoned house, looked in by some pissed off ghost. You were here to try and get rid of it. He was there as part of intonation.

Flipping pages you squint to read, trying to find an answer, while trying not to fight your own panic down.

Eric is snatched away from right beside you, and you don't even realize it until you hear his agonized screams from somewhere in the house.

It takes you a couple of hours to find him. By then his body is already turning cold.

Staring at Eric's petrified expression, frozen by death, all you can think about is how you wished you were anywhere else in the world. How stupid you were to think you could do this on your own.

You learn a lot this go 'round. Like you have to salt and burn the bones. This isn't a game. And nightmares aren't made up of the monsters you hunt, but the faces of people you didn't save.

This was your first job. And you screwed it up. Next time you don't make the mistake of reaching for the journal, when someone is depending on you to stay alive. You grab the sawed off loaded with rock salt and take aim.

**A/N: ****I just wanted to thank those of you who are reviewing. It's **_**very **_**encouraging. **


	9. Leaving Town

**A/N: If anyone is interested I started another story based off this one about Dean. It's called Going. **

**"Leaving Town"**

"I'm not going to see you again, am I?" She stared at you, big blue eyes.

You'd found her, Lottie, a couple of weeks ago locked in a tomb four down from the famous Marie Laveau's, in St. Louis Cemetery. No. 1. A ghoul had been hanging on to her for a couple of days for a meal. You hadn't expected to find anything alive in that New Orleans Tomb, just hoping to find out who the ghoul was looking like at the moment.

She already knew the answer to the question, because she knew what it was you were. A hunter. You had told her after saving her.

And after three years this was the first time you ever really regretted being one, but you were too close to avenging your father to stop now.

You shrug, and give her a smile. You don't want to confirm it as the truth, because you really, _really _do want to come back to her.

She smiles back, but she blinks rapidly, fighting tears, and you want nothing more than to hold her and promise you won't ever go anywhere. Instead she wins the battle on her own, and no tears fall. "Will you call me every once in a while? Let me know your okay?"

"Sure." It's very unlikely you will. You reach for her, for one last kiss good-bye, and it almost does you in.

But you break away and leave. You've already been here too long, and you don't want to let the trail get too cold.

You're well aware that she loves you. The feeling is mutual, no question about it. You can't help but think how much you wished you could introduce her to your mother. Your mom would have loved Lottie too.

Instead you turn onto Canal Street and keep going.

This hurts you more than anything has in a long, long time.

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed it. Now please don't forget to leave a review.**


	10. And who he would become

**And who he would become**

"She's worried about you." Jo sets a fresh beer down in front of you, then takes your empty bottle away.

You look up at her, wondering how she knew your father. But you'd never ask that question, not really sure if you want to know. With the kind of world you lived in you never know what you could get for an answer.

"I'll call her in the morning." You promise before you take a long pull off your knew beer. You needed to wash the road away. And get a certain pair of blue eyes out off your mind. You had driven straight from New Orleans to the Roadhouse looking for a job.

"Yea." She says flatly. Jo stares at you, and you know she sees right through you. "Why don't you go home?"

You take a deep breath; this is why you rarely stopped by the Roadhouse. "I cant right now."

She looks mad as hell after you say that. "You're doing the same thing your father did to her. It's cruel."

You get mad too. "I'm not my father." You say it quietly. Dangerously.

"You are a lot more like him than you think, kid." You don't scare her. Probably because she's faced down her own demons. "Except for one thing. Dean would have left it alone if he could have. Unlike you, and a couple of other Winchester's I'm _not_ going to name."

You get the gist of what she's saying. It makes you so mad that if Jo were a man you'd have dragged her across the bar that separates the two of you and beat the holy hell of her.

But she's not, and your mama taught you better than that.

You glare at her instead, and all but growl, "Go to hell."

She snorts, unfazed by you. "Kid, you've turned into the one thing your Daddy never wanted you to be, and I bet your breaking his heart wherever he is."

You think about telling her that he had broken yours by being gone all the time when you were a kid and he had been your whole world. Those memories are vague to you now, but the feelings are still sharp. But you don't. You just finish your beer and try to ignore Jo and the guilt trip she was laying on you about your mother.


	11. Only Skin Deep

**A/N: Sorry for any mistakes, I was in a hurry.**

"**Only Skin Deep"**

"Hello Johnny." It came from right behind you.

You almost jump out of your skin. No one had been in the parking lot when you had started looking trough the Impala's trunk for some clean clothes. It was late, and only the unsavory would be caught in this sort of place at this time of night.

You turn to look at the woman. She's tiny and harmless looking but the smile on her full lips gives her away. It speaks volumes about the trouble she's packing.

"Who are you?" You've recovered from your earlier start.

That smile turns into a grin and it's nothing but the showing of teeth. She blinks and her hazel eyes are black.

You take a step back before you realize you've moved. You've never seen a real demon before. Despite the stories you've heard of them, the one standing in front of you isn't what you except.

"I'm a messenger." She puts her hand on her hip and you realize that her every movement is design for seduction.

You're not falling for it.

"And I've got a message." She purrs it.

"From who?" You keep your voice steady. That smile is just teeth and those black eyes make you feel cold.

"Your Uncle Sam."

Who else, you think to yourself. "Yea? And what's he got to say?"

"Go home." She looks bored saying it.

You smirk at her. "Sorry. No can do."

"I thought you might say that." She smirks back at you. "So I took it upon myself to take out a little insurance that will get you out of town."

You keep your expression of amusement and boredom, wondering what she could possible have on you. There wouldn't be a lot. You've cut ties with everything, even your mother just about, and what was going on in this town just got a lot more interesting if dear old Uncle Sam wanted you gone.

"I buried that little girl from New Orleans, in a real grave this time, about five minutes ago. She's six feet under in the next town." She's enjoying this, the gleam in her eye tells you so. "Even under all that dirt she I could still hear her screaming."

Your blood runs cold.

"Seems she a little claustrophobic." She says it with a small shrug.

How did she know about Lottie? You had left her a year ago in New Orleans, hadn't called her once. How did this demon know where to hit?

She laughs. "You thought we didn't know about her?" She laughs harder. "Oh Johnny, we've been keeping up with you. There isn't anything we don't know. "

Her laughter makes you snap, and you're consumed by rage. Something you've never experienced before. You reach for the pistol not far from your right hand in the trunk. You know it won't kill her but it's the only thing you can think of.

You don't hesitate pulling the trigger.

She twists that pretty face she's wearing into a snarl. "You really shouldn't have done that." A cloud of black smoke escapes from her mouth, and her body goes limp.

The demon is gone, leaving you with a woman dying slowly of a gunshot wound to her stomach. Realization hits you hard as she lay their, bleeding out. No the bullet wouldn't kill the demon, but it would kill the person it was using.

Guilt is something you've dealt with a few times since becoming a hunter. Your mother being a source of some of it. Victims you couldn't save being another. But not murder. This is a new one.

It felt like time slowed as you held on to the woman the demon had been processing, telling her how sorry you were and that she was going to be okay.

But she wasn't fighting it, the relief in her eyes telling you so. She reaches up and touches your face, and if you could have traded places with her you would have. Anything to right this.

She starts to say something and you lean closer to her. "Hillcrest Cemetery." The words are barely discernable and didn't make sense to you just then.

Then she is gone, and time went from a creeping passing to a complete stop.

The demon had been wearing this woman like clothing. You had known it was possessing somebody, and in your rage you didn't even give pause to how shooting the demon would effect the person being inside. You wonder how you could ever make up for something like this.

The world starts up again with the sound of sirens not too far off. You gently lay her down on the ground to be found by the approaching police before getting in the Impala, and leaving. Lottie needed you now.

You were half way to the next town when you realized what the dead woman's last words meant. She'd told you where Lottie was.


	12. Too Late

**A/N: I had some major mess-ups, so I just took the chapter down and fixed it. Sorry if it's a little confusing.**

_Too late._

The words repeat over and over in your head like some broken record. Since finding a lifeless Lottie two nights before it just won't stop. Pushing yourself despite the hunger and exhaustion you keep moving. After the initial break when you had found her, staying in motion was the only thing keeping the grief from consuming you. Stopping only for gas, until you were back at the Roadhouse, you drove like a bat out of hell. It was the closest safe place from where you had been. Plus, Jo wouldn't hound you to death to know what was wrong like your mother would. You didn't want to try and explain that it felt like your heart had been ripped out of your chest and then buried six feet under in some no-name small town's cemetery.

Later, when you can think past the grief and guilt you realize that _this _is why your father wanted something different for you. It wasn't the constant traveling. It wasn't danger of getting hurt. It wasn't because being normal was so great. It was the unbelievable guilt. It was watching as the people you hold close, pay the price. And knowing you were too late to stop it. You don't want to admit to your mother now that you finally fully understand why he wanted you not live like this. That would just confirm for her that all his attempts at protecting you were in vain.

When you walked into Jo's bar, and found her and your mother sitting on stools, it no doubt was a surprise.

"Well, well. Speak of the devil." Jo said; turning to look at you, the same time your mother did. There were no customers, since it was about nine o'clock in the morning, just the three of you.

You didn't know why your mother was there, and at the moment you didn't really care. Despite wanting to avoid her, you're glad you could see with your own eyes that she's okay. But that small relief quickly leaves when you see the look on her and Jo's faces. You could tell you they knew something was wrong. Just looking at you anyone could tell. You hadn't stopped to clean up. There was still grave yard dirt all over you and your clothes, you hadn't slept in days and you needed a shave pretty bad. You didn't want your mom to see you like this.

"John? What is it?" Your mother is on her feet and in front of you in a second.

You don't say anything. Just look at her with bloodshot eyes that were gritty feeling from lack of sleep. All you wanted was a night or two of hiding from the world, and then you could face it again.

"What happen?" Jo, despite her demanding tone looks just as concerned as your mother.

You look her in the eye, and know neither one of them will give you any peace without some sort of answer.

You look back down into your mother's face. She was waiting for an explanation on what happen. "Too late." You say, because that was the truth. "I was too late."

You push past both of them, heading to the spare room you use in the back whenever your in town. Unfortunately sleep isn't any relief. Just a replay of the scenes your trying to escape.


	13. The Greatest Man You Never Knew

**The Greatest Man You Never Knew**

With one look you see recognition in the nurse's eyes, even though you are fairly certain you've never meet this woman in your life. She looks at you with astonishment, like you're some ghost from her past that she never thought to see again.

You'd come into the E.R. because you'd broken your left arm while on a hunt and couldn't set it yourself. She was an older nurse who'd come in the room where you were waiting in for a doctor to file out paper work.

"Winchester," she looks down at the clipboard and finds your name. "It's been thirty years but I'd know that face any where." She says it with a certainty that only comes with age.

There's no doubt that she's talking about your father, but you wonder _how_ she knew Dean. Maybe you should be worried about this; your logic reminds you that the Winchester name comes with enemies. Then her brown eyes are on you again, and the warmth in them eases your worries.

"You look just like him." There's an unguarded mix of wonder and reverence in her gaze. The paper work completely forgotten about, as she stares openly at you.

Despite the pain from your arm you catch your self blushing, realizing your dad had left quite an impression on this woman.

"Are you his son?"

You don't even try to act like you don't know who she was talking about, you're too exhausted and your arm hurt too damn much. "Dean Winchester? Yea."

The doctor comes in before either of you could say anything else, and gets to work on your arm. It seems like a week passes before the cast is on your arm and you were struggling into your jacket. The older nurse comes back, pain medicine prescription and more paper work in hand.

"How's he doing, your dad, I mean?" She seems genuinely interested.

You look at her, knowing she's got your old man on some pedestal like he's some untouchable hero, and you have every intention of breaking that image by letting her know the great Dean Winchester had been dead for more than six years. "He's…he's good. Back home with mom."

You didn't have the stomach for it. _Let her have her hero,_ you think bitterly. No reason in upsetting the older woman.

She smiles. "And Sam, how's he doing?"

You look down at the floor, you really try to forget Dean and Sam were brothers. That they were once each others "other half" as Jo once told you. For the most part you try not to think of Sam as even being human, and refuse to hear about anything about before he went dark side. "He's good too."

"They saved my daughter when she was a little girl. They are really good men." She gives a nod to confirm what she said. "They're the very best."

You try for a smile and know it falls short. You can tell she has the intention of saying more, but you make your excuses and leave quickly. You don't want to hear about how great Dean and Sam where. Even though you've become the same thing as your father and you definitely understand him better, you still harbor some of the resentment from your childhood you had for him. You held a mixture of bitter emotions for your father.

And Sam you knew very little about before he went down the proverbial wrong path, but you'd been taking notes on his life and times after that. You hate that monster with a vengeance that you knew if you studied it too closely would scare the hell out of you.

Getting behind the wheel of the Impala you catch a glance of yourself in the rear view mirror and see nothing but your dad. Cringing you start the engine. You blame the exhaustion and pain medicine the doc gave you for fleeing like your five again. Resenting the nurse for having gotten to know what kind of man your dad had been when you were never given the chance to find out.

**A/N: I really love getting feedback, so don't be shy and leave a review!**


	14. Home Coming

**Home Coming **

_Taptaptap._

You use your knuckles to knock on your mom's front door. It's been over a year since you've been home, and just letting yourself in didn't seem right anymore.

It was late afternoon, a few days before Halloween. Plenty of fall colors could be found in your old neighbor, and added with the cooler weather it took your right back before the days of hunting. Reminding you, as you patiently wait, that Halloween had once been your favorite holiday; before the ghost and ghouls of the season had made up your daily life.

The door swung open, and your mother's look of surprise makes you feel a little guilty that it's been so long since you've come to see her. But the smile that spreads across her face lets you know your spur of the moment decision to visit was a good one.

"John!" She pulls you quickly in to the house; like she's afraid you might run away again. Then she's hugging you fiercely. "I had no idea you were coming home. I've missed you so much!"

You hug her back just as tight, because even though you don't say it you've missed her too. "Hey mom."

"I'm so glad you're here." She steps back from you after a long moment. Keeping her hands on your shoulders she looks up at you. "How have you been?"

"Pretty good." You answer and smile for the first time you can remember since Lottie's death. Which was a little more than eight months ago, and the last time you've seen your mom.

With a critical eye she looks you over. "Have you been taking care of yourself? You don't look like you've been eating enough."

"I'm fine." How have you been?" Because you really didn't know. For so long you've been wrapped up in grief and guilt, focusing solely on hunting. Looking at her now you see a few lines in her face that weren't there before. The circles under her eyes worry you a little. Was she not getting enough sleep?

She smiles, and then says the sappiest thing ever. "I'm great now that you're here."

You blush a little but your smile turns into a grin. Who cares if it's saccharine? You're just glad there's someone who's glad to see you.

Then she puts her hands on her hips and glares up at you. "Now we need to talk about your inability to use you a phone. I know you know how. You spent way too much time on the phone as a teenager talking to your girlfriends not to know how to dial one up. So you better have a darn good excuse for not calling me at least once a week. Is that really too much to ask that you let me know your still alive?"

Your face turns even redder, because you know she's telling the truth, and even though you're a foot taller than her and weigh twice her size, she can still intimidate you.

"I'm sorry." You say with honesty. "I'll do better. I promise."

"You better. And I_ do_ mean once a week."

"Yes ma'ma."

"Good. Now let's get you something to eat." She herds you toward the kitchen, and you can't help but feel how great it is to be home for awhile.

**A/N: Come one guys, please leave a review. I need some feedback. **


	15. Death Rolls the Dice

"**Death Rolls the Dice"**

You had found him squatting in an abandoned house.

"You look like him." He says more to himself, than you. You couldn't see Sam's face.

The comment makes you glare at him. You don't want the reminder that this is your father's brother. This is already difficult enough.

Sam leans forward in his chair, bringing him out of the shadows. "I remember one time him talking about you."

You don't respond to him.

"I had been caught in a snow storm. My leg was broke. He found me and got me somewhere safe. Talked about you and your mom all night, while we waited for the storm to pass. I think he said you were in the fifth grade or something like that."

You don't know why, but that hits a nerve. "Yea, right. Dad wouldn't have helped you. He wanted you dead."

Sam looks likes he's lived too much and too long as he glances away. "I asked him that night if he was going to end it and kill me. He said he wouldn't shoot a man who was already down. That the odds would have to be even for him to do it. But truth was he didn't want me dead anymore than I wanted him dead."

You narrow your eyes on the older man. "Bullshit. You killed him just the same as if you were the demon who knifed him."

Sam clenches his jaw. "I warned him to leave matters alone. That he couldn't help those people. I had set things in motion for that years before it happen. I told him to just leave it be."

"I don't believe you. And even if you did, you're the one who should be held accountable for it."

Sam looks out the window.

"You're singing to the choir, John." He says quietly.

Sam looks back up at you. "He was my brother. I wanted to protect him from-" He seems to struggle for words. "I wanted him to just go home and be with you and your mom. I know whose fault it is that he's dead. You don't need to remind me."

His look reminds you of a man looking for forgiveness. But you're not a priest and you sure as hell won't listen to his list of confessions. You only want to settle the score and be done with it.

Hands bunched into fists at your sides, you're so ready for things to get going.

Sam looks back down at the floor or his hands, you can't tell and you really don't care. He nods a little. "This wont be easy." He tells you. Then he stands, ready to fight.

Sam was tall. He could look you square in the eyes, with out having to look up in the slightest. It was rare you found anyone who could do that.

The battle wasn't epic. It was simply two men fighting, and you came out on top. Stabbing in to Sam's chest, hitting home with one stroke. That was all it took. He was dead before he hit the floor, and you know that Sam had let you win.

As you watched the salted body burn, you realized that the satisfaction of justice and the closure you were looking for didn't come. You just felt tired.


	16. Truth Hurts

"**Truth Hurts"**

You're stunned by the tears. Someone could have used a feather to knock you off your barstool, no problem.

Jo turns, giving you her back, and she quickly wipes at her eyes. "Well, I guess it's all over then." She starts rearranging the liquor bottles.

"Jo?" You ask cautiously. Her crying is something you didn't think was possible.

"Yeah, kid?" Her voice is steady, but she's rubbing under her eyes again.

"Are…are you okay?" You thought she'd be relieved to hear Sam was dead.

"Yeah." You're not sure if you hear the sniffle or if you've just completely lost your mind.

"I thought you'd be happy to hear it was done." You say quietly.

She lets out a bitter laugh. "It doesn't matter what he did, John, there's no way I can be _happy _to hear that Sam's dead."

You think about that for a second, and it reminds you that she'd known Sam before he'd become what he'd been.

"You know what?" She turns around, sounding angry, her eyes shining from crying. "I really think that you don't under stand anything about your dad or your uncle Sam."

You start to get mad too. "That not my fault." You snap it out at her. "They didn't give me the chance to, and then left me to finish what they started."

"Like hell!" She's angry, but you think it's just a cover up for a grief you can't understand. "I know better than that! Your mom told me how you couldn't stand Dean. You would hardly speak to him when he came home, and never called him or answered when he'd call you. If you'd wanted to have gotten to have known him you had your chance."

You opened your mouth to reply, but she kept on.

"Your dad used to stop by all the time. He'd tell me all about what a smart kid you were, how good you were at sports, on and on. He was so proud of you, and so glad that you were living a normal life that he'd put up with you hating him if it meant you didn't have to grow up like him and Sam had."

She points to a stool on your left, "He was sitting right there, when your mother called to tell him you'd been accepted into Stanford. I remember the proud, stupid grin he wore the rest of the day. So don't say that this life got pushed onto you because it didn't, you didn't have to finish anything."

Her tears have dried up and she's glaring at you.

You nod and keep your expression natural as you start to stand. You know when you've been put in your place.

Her eyebrows knit together, and you think she might start tearing up again. "Oh God, John. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I know you were just a kid then and you didn't understand. I'm sorry."

You give her a smile that you know doesn't reach your eyes. "Its ok." You managed to say through a clenched jaw.

She shakes her head. "No, its not." She looks deflated; there's a lonely kind of sadness to her. "Its just so long as Sam was still alive out there somewhere, then I wasn't alone, you know? First my mom, Bobby, then Dean, and now Sam…" She shakes her head, again. "I'm sorry I took that out on you." Jo doesn't crying.

"It's fine." Your a little more relaxed even if you are still anger. "I'll see you around Jo." You head for the door.

You get into the Impala understanding Jo a little better if not completely. Knowing full and well that in her anger she hadn't told you anything about yourself that you hadn't already been aware of. That you hadn't been the son your dad deserved, and it will haunt you for the rest of your days.


	17. Their Ending

**Their Ending **

**A/N: I'm very sad to say that there is only one more chapter left for me to write after this. **

You wonder again why you're doing this. The only answer you can give yourself is that it's the only thing that feels right, and you're so tired of feeling wrong.

The cemetery is closed and the world around you is dark, save for the light of the full moon and it is bright enough for you to read the words on your father's headstone.

You focus on the shovel in your hands instead and dig, going only a few feet in, you're not trying to reach your dads casket.

Finishing the hole you think of how crazy this would seem if you were that nineteen year old kid you'd been the last time you were here.

Reaching in to the duffle bag that had once belonged to your dad you pull out a shoe box. In it are Sam's ashes, or what you'd been able to gather after the embers had cooled. You gently lower it into the hole you'd dug in your father's grave, followed by the journal written by your grandfather. No one else in your family was going to run the risk of reading it, because the Winchesters were done with hunting.

Carefully filling in the hole, an unexpected sense of closure comes to you. And you know at least in this one final act, you've done right by them. You can't help but think this is how it should be, them together. They may not have been on the same side anymore, but they were forever brothers, you'd learned that much about them even if you hadn't been able to witness it.

**A/N: I would really love to get some reviews!**


	18. Carry On my Wayward Son

**A/N: Okay, so this is the last one. This story honestly turned out a lot longer than I had planned in the beginning, with only about five chapters, but I just enjoyed writing this too much to stop and it pretty much wrote itself. **

**Thank you to anyone who's ever reviewed this story. **

**I wanted to give a special thanks to Yammy1983 for being the one constant reviewer I've had from the beginning to end. **

**I also wanted to say thank you to****Pandora de Romanus****, I've really enjoyed getting your feedback. And in respond to your last review, I had originally thought to give John the answers he's been looking for through a conversation with Bobby or Cass Sam, and at one point maybe even bring the Trickster in to work a little magic, but then I decided against it. My reasoning was that life doesn't always give us the answers we want or even need, but we have to learn to live with what we've got and make it work for us.**

**"**_Carry on my wayward son__  
__There'll be peace when you are done__  
__Lay your weary head to rest__  
__Don't you cry no more"_

The music floats softly through the Impala as you look out the windshield at the other people in the parking lot with their books and book bags, heading to class.

You just want to crank up the engine up and drive off.

Your phone rings and you answer it without looking. "Hey mom."

"Hi, honey." You can hear the smile in her voice. "I know it's your first night of class, and I know this is only community college and you said it wasn't that big of a deal, but…" She gives a pause. "I just want you to know that I'm proud of you. Just as proud as the day you started Stanford, and I know your dad would be too."

You'd retired from hunting a few months ago, and started staying in the same town you'd grown up in, deciding you were ready to pick up the pieces of your life. You'd enrolled for the fall semester, taking night classes while you worked days at a mechanics shop. It wasn't as grand as your dreams had been when you'd been seventeen, filling out college applications, making plans to be an attorney. That was a little more than a decade ago. Sometimes you wonder what it would have been like had you stuck with that track. Who would you be; if you'd have a wife, maybe a kid by now?

"Thanks." You tell her.

"Ok, I just wanted you to know." She says. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, ok?"

"Yea."

"Love you."

"Love you too." You hang up and wonder for a moment about the kid you'd been and hunter you'd become. Those days were done though, and maybe you could go back to school, but you couldn't go back to being either of those people again.

Then you try to imagine what your dad would think of you. If he'd really be proud of you like your mother said or disappointed with what you'd done with your life so far like you think. Because who could be happy with a kid that had done the very opposite of what was wanted of them?

No, you couldn't go back and change the things that were done, and you're not even sure you would if you could, because as selfish as it was, you'd trade nothing for that time with Lottie.

But if your time as a hunter had taught you nothing else, it was that the 'the what ifs' were just a useless waist of time, and that you had to keep going if you were going to be any good to anyone.

With Sam gone you hadn't been left with much of a motive to keep hunting and you'd figured it was time to start fresh anyway. You were going to try and make up for your wayward years, because just in case there was a heaven you wanted to be able to look your dad in the eye.

So you pick up your books and check to make sure you have a pen.

_'This is for you dad,'_ you say silently as you step out the Impala and head for your class.

Then End

**A/N: Would love you to hear your thoughts-leave a review!**


	19. Deleted Scene: Trick or Treat?

**A/N: I was looking through the files on my flash drive and came across all the saved files I had for this story but didn't use. Mostly because I couldn't fit them into the story or they ended up being way too long. So I've decided to post them as 'never before seen episodes'. If you don't like them you don't have to read them, I'm not even guaranteeing they will be complete. **

**I'll let you know at the being where each would fall in the time line of the story. Like this would have been the chapter before Chapter 14, where John goes home to see his mom.**

**A/N: This is where the trickster would have been brought in to cause some trouble for John. The point of this was to show John what his life would have been like if Dean hadn't died, and remind John that he still had a mother that he depended on whether he realized it or not. **

**Sorry for any mistakes.**

"Trick or Treat?"

You were in that gentle place some where between consciousness and slumber, feeling warm and secure, when you felt something next to you move. Which is what brought wakefulness crashing down on you, because you sleeping in the Impala's backseat on Christmas Eve did not make for comfortable resting, and there shouldn't be a warm body next to yours.

Opening your eyes, you found yourself back home, and lying next to you was Lottie sound asleep. Warning bells go off in your head, and you quickly get out of the bed. No matter how bad you want Lottie back, alive and well, you _know _she's dead, and waking up next to her can't be a good thing.

Glancing around quickly you find a shirt to put on, but no shoes, and slip out the door, knowing that if she opened up those green eyes and turned them on you, you wouldn't care about what was going on. Creeping down the hall of the house you grew up in, you keep your eyes open for your mom. Noise from down stairs drawls you to the kitchen, and as you round the corner you're not meet with your mother. No in fact, what you find is in some ways even worse than finding Lottie next to you in bed.

Your dad, quickly shoves a cookie into his mouth from the plate piled high with gingerbread men and chomps happily away as he makes himself a glass of milk. He sees you and swallows before giving you a sheepish grin. "Don't tell your mom, you know how she is. She'll kill me for eating these before everyone else got up."

You continue to stare at him dumbfounded, not believing what you're seeing. Lottie in your bed, your dad in your mom's kitchen? How had you even got home? You where out of state when you had fallen asleep. What the hell?

"Hey, John?" Your dad is walking toward you, studying you hard. "You okay son?"

"I don't know." You say honestly, because none of it is making sense.

Your dad has puts a hand on your shoulder, concern written all over your face. "Tell me what happen. You and Lottie have a fight or something?"

"Whereas Mom?" Shaking off the hand, and ignoring the worry on his face because you're not sure you can trust it.

There was a flash of something in his green eyes, you wanted to call it hurt, but that kind of vulnerability didn't seem fitting with the man in front of you. "Upstairs, she's-"

You move fast, not caring what else he had to say, and find her in still asleep in bed. Ignoring the awkwardness of being in your mom's, you wake her up, and immdently bombard her with questions.

"Honey. Honey, come down." She puts her hands on your face, and looks down at you while you kneel in front of her as she sits on the edge of her bed. "One at a time. Now, what is it?"

You manage to find a place to start your questions, and even though she looks more concerned with each one, she answers them. Through her you figure out that you and your dad may not get along well, but he wasn't dead, he'd come home not long after you had went to Stanford. Which you had graduated from early with honors and were now working at a very prestigious law firm in New Orleans, where you had meet Lottie, who was wearing your engagement ring. And you didn't know a damn thing about hunting, or who the man dad really was.

"Honey." Your mother says carefully. "Maybe we should go to the hospital. You hit your head pretty hard yesterday."

"I hit my head?" The things she was telling you aren't the things you remember. They sounded like the dream you once had, years ago before the long nights of hunting.

"Don't you remember?" She looks almost frantic. "When you were coming down the back steps, you tripped over Frankenstein, your dog, and hit your head on that gnome statue in my flower garden."

"No. I mean yeah, I remember. I just had a really crazy dream, it had me a little confused. I'm okay. Don't worry I'm fine." You decide to play long, your mother looked ready to haul you out the door, and you really had no desire to see a hospital again.

"No, I think we should go." She started to stand, but you stopped her.

"I'm fine. Really."

"You're sure?" She looks skeptical.

"Positive." You give her a convincing smile.

"Alright. But if you start to feel odd or something tell me." She said in a very stern motherly tone, making you smile in earnest. No matter how crazy things seemed, you could always count on her. And things were looking pretty crazy from where you were standing.

"Now." You recognized the warning in her voice. "I want you to try and get along with your dad today. It's Christmas, and Idon't need you criticizing everything he says or does. Just because you don't understand him doesn't give you the right to tare him down. Do you understand me? Let us be a family for at least this one day."

It was the same message she had been telling you years before your dad had dead in your real life (or in your dream of another life, you weren't sure which it was yet, but you were starting to believe in second chances), and despite the bitterness you still felt toward him you had began to wish you had listened to her, especially after you'd started hunting.

You could tell by the look on her face she was anticipating an augment, and if you were the man she thought you were you would have given her one, but you weren't and you did understand your father. "Okay mom. I'll behave."

The surprise on her face was priceless. You give her a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Merry Christmas." You tell her.

You're pretty sure this isn't reality, and you know something has to be terribly wrong, and you fully intend to right it.


	20. Deleted Scene: Regretful Acknowledgment

**A/N: This would have taken place right after Chapter 12: Too Late. **

"**Regretful Acknowledgment"**

You were taking a break from driving, your long legs needed to be stretched. Staring out over at peaceful farm land, you lean against the Impala.

There wasn't any warning sound that betrayed his presence, so when he spoke you were completely off guard.

"John."

You spun around, to a man you couldn't remember having met in your life, but you knew instinctively who he was. You only recognized him because of the pictures you found in the Impala. Those were of a younger man, not the aged one in front of you.

"Sam." You answer back.

He gives you a small smile, and it takes you aback. He doesn't look like evil incarnated. He looks, well…normal. A moment passes with the two of you studying each other.

"You look just like your dad." He says it with a very nostalgic look in his eyes.

You glare hard at him. "That what you came for? To look at a dead man?" You snarl the words, because it pisses you off that everyone knew your father so much better than you did, even the man responsible for his absence and eventually death.

Sam clenches his jaw, and slightly cocks his head. "No."

"Then what do you want?" You ask, even though you don't really care. You're trying to figure out how to get that knife out of your boot and in his throat before he has time to react.

"To apologize."

Not really what you were excepting from the devil himself. You cock a brow. "What?"

"About the girl. Lottie. I didn't order the demon to do that." The way he says demon is almost like he's separates himself from them, like he isn't on the dark side.

You thought you were pissed before. "You think you can come to me and say sorry and that will make it better?"

Sam opens his mouth but you keep going.

"You cant even comprehend what you took from me." You snarl at him. You'd loved Lottie in away that it didn't matter how much time or distance you put between the two of you. What would a monster like Sam know about that?

"I understand a little better than you think." There's a sorrow in Sam's eyes that you recognize, because you've seen it in the mirror, and you know he understands that kind of pain.

"Good." _Bastard._ You say it to hurt him and you hope who ever she was haunts him the way Lottie haunted you.

Sam's eyes harden. "I didn't mean for her to get hurt."

You shrug. That maybe the case, but it doesn't change the facts. "If you're hoping that apologizing changes things then you're screwed because this didn't start with Lottie."

"I didn't mean for him to be hurt either."

"Point?"

"You know your not the only one who lost him. Dean was my brother." Sam snaps back.

"And he was my _father_!" You all but yell it at him. "One that I didn't get to know because of _you._"

"I asked him to not-"

"Like you said, he was your brother." You remind him. "What did you think he was going to do?" You may not have known your father, but you did know he was always loyal to Sam. You'd learn that the hard way growing up.

You can see it in Sam's face that you've one this argument, but that's not the victory your after. You move fast and snatch the blade out of your boot but Sam's gone in the blink of an eye.


	21. Deleted Scene: One In Every Family

**A/N: Far warning now: this chapter wasn't my greatest. I wrote it the same time I wrote the second chapter (Bobby wasn't in a wheel chair at that point in the show, and in the actual story Bobby is no longer alive anyway.) But then I decided not to use Castiel in the story, and I wanted John to be the one who took the steps towards becoming a hunter on his own, not for someone to point him in that direction. Plus this was just too long.**

**This would fall right after Chapter 4: Gone**

"**One In Every Family" **

The funeral was four days later. It was you, your mother, and three other people you didn't know, who witnessed your father being put in the ground. The older two kept glancing your way, during it. The ancient grizzled old man and blonde woman who was about your mothers age seemed curious about you. The other, younger, one stood separate from the pairs, and his face was passive as he looked off into the distance.

When it was over, you drove your mother home, and the other three followed.

"John, honey", your mother said when everyone was filing in through the front door. "I want you to meet your father's friends". She looked like she had just remembered that you had never seen these people before. "This is Bobby," she indicated to the old man who was limping in threw the door.

Politely you held out your hand to shake his. "Nice to meet you". It came out without you even having to think about it as the old man with a strong grip pumped your hand up and down.

"This is Jo". The woman had hugged you before you could give her one of your built -in –automatic greetings. Breaking the embrace, she gave you a sad smile.

"And this is…" your mother hesitated, looking like she wasn't sure she could say, as she looked at the man standing just inside the doorway.

"Castiel", the man answered for her. He didn't offer his hand, and so neither did you. There was an intense silence that fell, like there was something going on that you didn't understand.

Your mother broke it. "Anyone want some coffee?"

There was a round of yes's that followed from everyone except Castiel. Your collective group shuffled into the kitchen where you mother started the coffee pot. It was quiet as everyone settled into chairs.

You slung your suit jacket on the back of yours, then sat down. You rolled up the sleeves of your white dress shirt, before pulling at the knot of your tie to loosen it. You'd always hated suits, they made you feel ridiculous.

Jo gave a quiet chuckle from across the table. "Sorry", she shook her head. "You just remind me so much of your dad. The way you move and stuff. You look a lot of alike too. Except you're taller like..." She trailed off like she caught herself about to say something she shouldn't.

You frowned. You knew what she had been about to say. _Except you're taller like Sam._

It bothered you that she knew your little family better than you. She could pick out resembles from the two men who had had such a huge impact on your world but neither had ever really been apart of it.

The old man, Bobby, looked between the two of you, then nervously at your mother. Instead of saying anything in response to Jo, you just accepted the cup of coffee your mother handed you, as she once again broke the silence between everyone. "You still own the Roadhouse Jo?"

The conversation picked up, with only you and Castiel not saying anything. After about an hour of playing catch up, they started talking about your father. From then on it was 'remember that time?' or 'how about this one time' and it got to you. You didn't remember any of the stories they were talking about, and you had none of your own to share about your father.

There was mention of that Uncle Sam that you didn't know, he was part of almost every story they had, but they talked like he was also dead.

You looked between Jo, Bobby, and your mother. How come he could have taken the time to make all those memories with them, and not have done the same for you? You were his son. How was it fair that they got to have all those memories, and you could barely remember his face?

You got up from the table; they only gave you a glance after you mumbled something about checking on Frankenstein, the dog who had been put in the backyard.

That's were Castiel found you about a half hour later, sitting on a upside down bucket petting the large mutt.

If it weren't for Frankenstein's attention being caught by the man, you wouldn't have known Castiel was ever there.

"It should ease you to know your father has found peace." The stranger standing to your left had a deep voice, but he said it quietly.

You make a face, but don't say anything. The guy should go talk to your mother if he wanted to comfort someone. You didn't know your father well enough to know if his finding 'peace' should have been an obvious assumption or an act of God's mercy.

"You don't believe me?" The same quite tone.

You shrug. "It doesn't make a difference to me. I didn't know him."

Castiel is pensive for a few moments. "Do you know how he died?"

What a thing to ask, you think. Of course you knew. "He was stabbed in a bar fight." You give a glance to the man, and see him frowning.

"No…that's incorrect."

What? That's what your mother had told you, the guy must have been crazy. "What are you talking about?"

"Your father was not stabbed in a bar fight."

"Yes he was. Mom said-"

"Your mother did not tell you the truth." He said it like someone would say the sky is blue. Like your mother lying to you would be an obvious thing.

"Whoa, wait. You're calling my mother a liar?" You stand up, wanting to make a point that you did not appreciate him disrespecting your mother.

"Yes. She was trying to protect you." Was this guy serious? Did he not realize him insulting your mother wasn't a wise move?

"Look, I don't know where you-"

"John," he cuts you off. "Your father died at the hands of his own brother. It-"

"CASTIEL!" Your mother damn near screamed the name. You hadn't noticed her approach, but there she was standing less than ten feet away, looking madder than you'd ever seen her before. "Castiel, you need to leave." She was practically growling.

"He needs to know the truth. Sam must be-"

"You have no right! No right at all to come here and except my son to pick up where Dean left off."

"Some one has-"

"No! No. I've lost Dean. I'm not allowing John to follow; I will not loose my son to this. He's all I have left of Dean. And Dean didn't want John to live that life."

What was she talking about? You looked back and forth between Castiel's impassive stare, and your mothers fierce glare. What were they talking about? Why weren't you being allowed to make a choice here?

"I realize that this is-"

"No, Castiel. Just leave. Now." The look your mother gave Castiel would have been enough to send you running without another word.

You looked back at the man, to see his response. He gave a slight nod in acceptance but he still wore the same passive look, and then strode past you, your mother, Jo and Bobby who you hadn't realized had come outside and was watching by the back steps. Castiel kept going until he was gone.

When he was gone, you laid a questioning look on your mother. "What were you talking about?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I shouldn't have let him in the house to begin with."

"Wait. He said-"

"John, don't listen to a word he told you."

"Adalida, maybe you should just tell him." Jo said, causing your suspicions to grow.

The look your mother leveled on Jo was worse than the one she had given Castiel. "No." She said simply and walked back into the house.

It took a moment but Jo and Bobby followed her in, but you didn't. There were so many unanswered questions, it left your head spinning. You sat back on the upside down bucket and Frankenstein put his head in your lap.

Your mother had obviously helped hide something from you. Something everyone else seemed to be in on. The suspicion built, and a feeling of betrayal set in.

You knew better than to go inside and started demanding answers. The loss of your father was still too fresh for her, and she was no doubt still angry, questioning her wouldn't get you anywhere right now.

There was no way you could forget what Castiel had said. There was no way for you ignore that your mother was keeping something from you.

As you stroked Frankenstein's gold fur you thought over what had been said. Had your Uncle Sam actually killed your father? Why would someone say that if it wasn't true? Who was Castiel in the first place? What weren't you being told?


	22. Deleted Scene: Down In N'awlins

**A/N: I wrote this while I was in New Orleans to help with some writers block I was having. I had never intended for Lottie to be brought into the story so this wasnt posted, but then much later I wrote Chapter 9: Leaving Town, and Lottie was introduced anyway. **

**This would fall be before Chapter 9: Leaving Town. **

"**Down In N'awlins"**

Really you hadn't been excepting to find anyone still alive in that New Orleans tomb. The only reason you had broken into that famous St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, was because you need to find the bones of the deceased Voodoo priestess, the one responsible for some of the disappearances of locals and tourist alike in the French Quarter.

You found it with relative ease. Her tomb was four down from the world famous Marie Laveau herself.

You pried the door open, trying not to make too much noise. Shining your flash light into the tomb you see a couple of centuries worth of family lying in rest together, searching for the freshest corpse, since the whole year and a day thing had expired you were hoping the bones on top were hers.

You reached in to pull an old tarp from the opening where the bones would have been swept in to. Your heart stopped then kicked into over drive when you saw what was laying on top of that stack of human bones.

Frightened eyes of a girl stared up at you, her hands and feet tied. She was gagged, but she tried screaming anyway when she saw you. That got you moving again.

"No, no, no. I'm here to help." You tell her, as you untie her feet. She lands a solid kick into your chest, sending you tumbling out of the tomb.

You let out a nasty curse as you pick yourself up, and tried to suck air in despite the painful burn of having it knocked out of you. Getting kicked that hard wasn't something to encourage you to keep trying.

"I'm only going to untie you." You try again to reach the rope around her wrists but she continues to struggle.

"Look lady." You snap, grabbing both her ankles roughly and yanked her toward you. "I can't get you out of here if you keep kicking me." After the five years of doing this job you had never meet anyone who was so determined not to be saved.

Maybe it finally sank in that you weren't here to do her harm or maybe you scared her enough to make her to quit, but she finally stopped fighting and let you untie her. Either way she was terrified, her trembling was too obvious to miss.

"How do I know your not one of them?" She asked when you took the gag off, her accent pure New Orleans. She backed up over the bones from you.

You frowned. "One of who?"

"One of those people that put me here?" She snatches the flashlight up from where you had set down in order to untie her, and shines it right into your face.

"There's more then one person who put you here?" Squinting from the light, you raise a hand to shield your eyes. You start thinking that maybe this wasn't a ghost you were trailing after all, they didn't usually have accomplices.

"Yea, two." She pushes herself up on shaky limbs, and you help her out of the tomb even though she tries to push you away. She's unsteady on her feet, and trying not to lean on you.

You're frowning trying to figure out this new twist, and only let go of her when you're sure she isn't going to topple over.

"They're monsters." You think she'd probably try to run if she didn't need the support of the tomb's wall she was leaning on.

"How long have you been in there?" You ask, taking in her appearance as much as you can given the fact it was dark and she didn't look like she was going to give you back your flashlight any time soon.

"Days…I don't know." With the shape she's in it wasn't hard to believe.

"Good thing it's the dead of winter, otherwise you would be dead now." You tell her. Those tombs would have baked her alive.

"Yea, well tell that to them." She says and despite the darkness you see the glassiness of unshed tears.

"Who?" You say, because you hadn't seen anyone else.

"The top vault on the right." She jerks her head in the direction of them tomb you'd just helped her out of.

You look where she had told you, and find the remains of two badly mutilated bodies of what you believe to have once a young man and woman.

Fighting back the urge to throw up, you move back out toward her. "What happened to them?" You asked, because you couldn't imagine.

"Those things ate them, then…" She shakes her head.

"Then what?" Because this needed to be figured out and stopped sooner rather than later.

"They became them."

You frown at that. "What?"

"After they eat them they turned into them. I swear. I had to watch, they did it right in front of me." She stared to sob. "I'm not lying. I'm not crazy. You've got to believe me."

She's nearly hysterical, and bound to attract unwanted attention with noise she's making. The idea of having to fend of muggers with her barely able to stand on her own is anything but appealing, and God help both of you if whatever had captured her came back.

"Yea. Okay. We need to go." You tell her but she's still crying and trying to convince you she saw what she saw.

You place your hands on either side of her face and gently make her look at you as you stoop down to be on eye level with her. "I believe you, okay? But you really need to calm down. Now let's get out of here before they come back ." You grab her arm and have to just about carry her back to the Impala.

This girl needed to be gotten out of there; you'd figure this out later.


	23. Deleted Scene: You're Welcome, cher

**A/N: This is right after Deleted Scene: **"**Down In N'awlins"**

"**You're Welcome, **_**Cher**_**"**

You kept her talking, asking her any question that popped into your head, just so she was distracted and not crying. You found out her name was Lottie**, **and she had lived in New Orleans her entire life same as the rest of her family. She was twenty-four, and had two older brothers and one younger brother. She was a nurse at Tulane Medical Center.

For all things considered after that one break down, which she got under control by the time the two of you made it to the car, she was keeping it together rather well. Even when you had to explain why you were breaking into graves in the middle of the night she hadn't freaked out. She'd asked and you couldn't think of a believable lie, so you'd given her a clean version of the truth.

You try to take her to her place, but she refuses to even tell you where it is. The creatures had taken her from out of her own bed and she swore she wouldn't go back. You suggest taking her to a friend or family member's place but she isn't willing to risk their safety. You end up taking her back to your hotel room, wondering what you're going to do with her.

After she gets some food in her she's much steadier, which is a relief because you didn't know what else to do for her. While she showered, you started to look into what she had told you about her abductors. By the time she came out the bathroom wearing the old sweat pants and t-shirt you had loaned her, you had her monsters named.

"Ghouls?" She asked you with big blue eyes. "Are you serious?"

"Yea." You say shrugging into your worn leather jacket.

"Where are you going?" She asked sounding panicked. For someone who had nearly broken your rib kicking you, she certainly had gotten attached.

"Out." You don't tell her it's to kill them.

"But…" Her pretty face not hiding anything.

"You'll be fine. Just stay in the room. Don't answer the door for anyone but me."

She nodded, wide eyed again.

"And here." You reach into the duffle bag that had once been your father's, pulling out a hand gun. "This is the safety and this is the trigger. Think you can use this if you need to?"

She nodded, and takes it with trembling hands.

"Don't shoot until you're sure it's not me." You say lightly with a smile hoping to get one back. She only nodes again.

"I'll be back in a few hours." You reach for the door, hoping you make it back by daylight.

It was closer to noon when you do. The two ghouls weren't an easy kill, and in the condition the fight had left you in you're not sure how managed to drive back to the motel room without killing your self or anyone else.

She let you in, and you pushed passed her without a word, because all you wanted to do was lie down.

She kept asking what happened and if you were okay, but by that point you were too exhausted to care.

You woke up the next day bandaged up. Glancing around you found a sleeping Lottie slummed down in the chair to your right, hand wrapped around the gun in her lap like she'd been keeping watch. Sitting up hurts and your grunt wakes her.

"Hey." She rubes her eyes with the back of her hand and yawns.

"Hi." Your voice sounds rough from sleep. Leaning over despite the pain you take the gun out of her lap, she didn't need it anymore.

"I found the bandages and stuff in your bag. You were bleeding kind of bad on your side."

You glance down to take a look for yourself. The ghouls had really done a number on you. "Thanks." Impressed that she had cleaned you without waking you.

"What happen?" She asks quietly.

Looking back up you try to think of a nice way to put it. "I took care of the ghouls. You don't have to worry about them again."

She pales and her gaze drops down to the floor. When she looks back up at you a moment later the expression on her face makes you feel like getting beat to hell and back was completely worth it. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, _cher_."

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Now don't for get to review!**


	24. Deleted Scene: History

**A/N: I didn't use this one because I couldn't come up with a decent way for John to kill the vampire in this story. It didn't turn out as epic as I think Quintus deserved. **

**History**

"_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,  
I will fear no evil: For thou art with me;  
Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me." _

The words where whispered by the nun, with a calm acceptance that surprised you, and enraged the vampire holding her by the throat.

You cringed at the sound made by the monster's hand coming down hard on her face, and then you struggle hard against the two holding you. Did they really need to beat on the old woman?

Quintus, the vampire holding the nun, was an old one, used to be a Gladiator or something if you remembered right, and you watched as he picked the nun up by the front of her robes. "Your _God _can't hear you old woman." He snarled in her face. "Now tell me where the book is." He emphasized his words by shaking her.

The book he was after was of a dark and deadly nature dating back from before Quintus's days, and it was said to hold between its covers the key to make a being invincible to even the wrath of the gods or God; whichever was your preference. You doubted the book even existed, but Quintus was absolutely sure that it was hidden somewhere in this old Catholic church, in a nameless town in New England.

You had tried to warn the nun away so you could deal with them, but she had all but called you crazy (granted she had been very kind about it) and refused to leave. Quintus and his couple of lapdogs had come in and started demanding the book. Before you even had a chance to fight back they had you figured out and held you down while they questioned the nun.

"I don't know." The nun looked the vampire in the eye, and said in a strong clear voice. You noticed the hand clutching her rosary had white knuckles.

The vampire growled, showing the old woman all his fangs.

"Let her go. The damn book isn't here." You say, still struggling against the vampires holding you.

"Then where is it hunter?" Quintus doesn't even spare you a look, still trying to scare the nun into telling him, who had gone back to quietly whispering her prayers. You wonder if all that praying is being heard by someone of a higher power or if they were just wasted words falling from her lips.

"You wouldn't be praying to Him old woman if you saw all the things He's let happen in this world. The countless battles history doesn't remember. If you'd witnesses first had the blood that's been spilled in His name. The righteous next to the wicked slaughtered mercilessly all in the name of _your _God." Suddenly the old vampire seems as ancient as he's thought to be. "I did witness and I do remember."

His face turns cold and a cruel smile twist his lips. "And I can tell you one thing old woman there is no such thing as innocence. We all are guilty of something." Quintus tosses the nun from him and she lands in a crumpled heap between two pews. She is slow to right herself and you hope she's okay.

"I'll find that book if I have to rip this place apart." Quintus bellows then marches toward the front of the church. "Angus! Keep the hunter and nun out of my way. Devjra help me look." The dark complicated vampire let go of you and hurried after the gladiator. The red head with a Scottish accent keeps both your arms behind you with a painful grip.

Quintus underestimates you, and why shouldn't he? The men of his time weren't cut from the same material as the ones from his time. This ancient man had come from an unforgiving world, while your was a little too forgiving. Gladiator to vampire, both were an existence soaked in blood. His name was whispered among circles of hunters, but then, so was yours wasn't it? All those apart of this world knew the name Winchester.

The three of you watched as Quintus and Devjra ripped apart the church then moved onto other rooms. Angus was obviously watching more carefully what you were doing and not so much what the nun was doing, because he didn't notice when she picked up a small statue of the Virgin Mary that was sitting on a table close to the confession both. You struggled against Angus, angling him away from the nun, leaving her out of his line of sight. You were hoping she was planning to do what you thought she was going to do with that statue.

And when she used all her strength to bring it down on the back of Angus's head you decided you were going to reevaluate your opinion of the Catholic Church. The hit didn't knock out the vampire, but it distracted him and you were able to get away and grab blade that had been taken from you and thrown to the floor. The vampire was dead before he could even let out a warning to the other two.

You told the nun to get out of sight and you went hunting for the other two. Devjra was easy but Quintus was damn near impossible to bring down. He had thousands of years of experience with fighting to your twenty-six years. Maybe it was blind luck or honed skilled, but you won.

You watched as his head rolled across the floor, stopping at the feet of the nun, who had ignored your order to hide. She took long look at the severed head before she looked up at you.

You figured you didn't look any better than the dead monster at her feet.

"Are you okay?" You ask.

She nodes.

"I'll get this cleaned up and I'll explain all this-"

"I already know what he was and what he was after." She tells you in a very calm voice.

You raise a questioning eyebrow.

She gives you a smile that seems hard and bitter, not something one would normally associate with a nun. "My mother was a hunter."

The confession surprises you, but you she doesn't give you a chance to reply before she's ordering you to help get the bodies out of the church. She's old but stronger than she appears and helps you burn the bodies even after you insist that you can do it on your own.

"How old was he?" She asked in a very calm voice, as the flames dance brightly. She's impressed you with how well she's handled everything, and you want desperately to ask about her mother who'd been a hunter.

"I don't know." You know she's talking about Quintus. "He was a gladiator when he was human."

"History." She mutters from next to you. "He was history." Then she's praying for Quintus and the other twos lost souls.


	25. Deleted Scene: Intervention

**A/N: This is the last of my deleted scences. It falls in right before Sam dies.**

**"Intervention"**

Your face was pressed against cool glass and you were slummed down in an uncomfortable position.

"Wakey-wakey, kid." A voice that was familiar but out of place said from your left. A strong hand gently shook your shoulder.

It feels like you've been sleeping for years and coming awake is slow. Straitening up and looking at the man you know something isn't right. Exhaustion and confusion bog down your mind.

Your dad looked over at you and gave a quick smile, before he turned his eyes back onto the road. The sun was shining bright in a big mid western sky, green and gold plains lay on either side of the two lane road, the Impala steady under his guidance.

"What's going on?" Your voice is whiskey-rough. The last thing you remembered was staring up at a night sky as cold rain fell down while you lay on the cold asphalt slowly but surely bleeding out. That had been somewhere in New England.

"You can call this an intervention." Dean said with a smirk.

"What?" Confused, you stare at him, and realize he was different from what you remember. There weren't any gray hairs dulling the luster of his hair and his intelligent green eyes had a mischievous spark in them. Younger, healthier, in his prime with a smirk playing at his lips like he knew something you didn't. Which given the situation was probably the case.

Dean's face sobered. "Look, I'm going to cut right to it, alright? This running yourself ragged stuff has got to stop. It's what got you shot tonight."

You glance down at yourself. "I was shot?" You mumble like you didn't already know.

"Yea." Green eyes fall on you again for a brief moment. "It wouldn't have happen if you'd been taking better care of yourself either. You know, sleeping more, taking time between hunts to heal up."

You frown; the fog slowly, very slowly lifting from your mind. "Am I dead?"

The smirk gone, you watch his eyebrows come down. "No. Not yet at least."

"Then where am I?"

"You can't tell?" He indicates the Impala.

You glare at the smart-ass answer.

"Don't worry about it, ok?" He says. "I pulled a few favors for this and we don't have too much time. You'll be fine, that shot is going to hurt like a bitch, but you'll be fine. Now, this is going to be a little awkward, but you need to hear it so listen up." Another glance in your direction. "I don't really know what's going on in that head of yours, but I've got an idea. This whole thing about you having to kill Sam, it's not your fight."

Your jaw clenches at the mention of his brother.

He caught the look on your face. "You don't know Sam the way I do. You don't know the life we had. He thought he was doing the right thing; he fought hard to fight this. I'm the one who let him down. I should have stopped him before all this got out of hand." The last part said is said with a grim tone.

"Sam still has to be stopped." You remind him.

Dean nodes. "Yea, he does, but if you're going to be the one who does it then you need to go in knowing this wasn't something that he meant to become. He was trying to help the world not make it worse. I was the one who should have seen it coming, should have stuck around to stop him. I share in the blame."

"Is that why you were never there?" You instantly regret asking that question. You weren't thirteen anymore, you were a grown man. You don't look at him.

"Yea. I'm sorry John." There's honesty in the gruff words.

You don't say anything back; just keep staring out the passenger window.

"Look son, I'd rather you leave this to someone else, but I think you're too much of a Winchester too, so I'm going to tell it to you like this. Sam won't go down easy. That being said back to why you're here." Your dad glances your way. "I know it's not easy. I really do, but you've got to watch your back. You need to let yourself heal up from one hunt before starting another one. Your luck's going to run out, it almost did tonight."

He looks your way, like he's waiting for you to reply but you don't have anything to say.

"Look John. I wished…I wish I had been around more for you and your mom while I was alive, but I'm not in a hurry for you to join me up here. We'll have all eternity to catch up, but you need to have a long life first. Try to find something that makes you happy, because hunting isn't it. You're like Sam that way."

You shoot a glare his way. You weren't anything like Sam.

"I know I know. He's the devil and all that." He rolls his eyes at you. "But hunting uses you up. There aren't any happy endings for us."

"You liked it." You say quietly.

He nodded. "I did, but you know what I liked better? Your mom and being your dad." He didn't look at you. "We're out of time." He slowed the car down to a stop.

He took the necklace off that you'd never seen him without and held it out to you. "Your Uncle Sam gave it to me when we were kids. I want you to have it."

You accepted it from him feeling unworthy. "Thanks."

"Take better care of yourself and call your mother

"Son?"

You look up at him after putting the necklace on.

"You were the best thing I ever did, and I'm proud of you. No matter what you decide to do I'll always be proud of you."

Those words affect you more than you ever thought they could. You wanted to say something back – anything, but the next thing you know you're looking up at a dark, raining New England sky with and a paramedic looking down at you, saying it was going to be okay. Days later when you're being discharged from the hospital they give you a bag with your wallet, keys and a necklace with an Egyptian protection amulet on it.


End file.
